


Petrichor

by Arisprite



Series: By Grace, We Are Saved [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel thinks about stuff, Crying, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisprite/pseuds/Arisprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was visceral, these emotions, these <i>feelings,</i> breaking over him like a tsunami wave, like a summer storm, his body trembling like it was caught in the throes of a earthquake.</p>
<p>Castiel cannot push his emotions down anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

The moment he broke, when it came, was very innocuous. Castiel almost thought it should have been more dramatic. After all, his life had been nothing but climactic moment after climactic moment, why should this be any different? 

But it was. Because his life was no longer a string of apocalypses. It was human, and as such defined by small moments such as these. 

Castiel had sat down on the side of the motel bed, after an afternoon walk alone, and some mash of food from a can, warmed in the room’s microwave. He’d been thinking about watching a movie, he still had some from that first stack Charlie had given him, and he’d found the value in using the story to pass the time, as his pain became less, and he began to not need as much sleep. He was trying to decide which one, staring at the movies sitting on top of the television, when it struck him. 

He was human. 

He’d known, he’d thought, even mourned the fact before. But here it was, the truth, sneaking up on him. Castiel would never again fly, never listen to the songs of the other angels, or the world’s unheard frequencies. He’d never heal someone again, nor be able to heal himself. He’d never see Heaven again (unless by some trick of the universe, he ended up there after he died) never see his brothers and sisters again, even those who’d hurt and despised him. He’d _never_ get to fix what he’d done in Heaven, as he’d so hoped to do while talking to Metatron. His mortal years both stretched before him, along with feeling impossibly brief, a blink in what used to be his life span. He had, what? Forty years left? _If_ he didn’t get killed some other way. 

All these thoughts and more whirled around his brain, and Castiel sucked in a breath, and then another, feeling overwhelmed. _This_ is what he’d chosen. This finite litany of eating, drinking, sleeping, hurting, and just living, and he didn’t know what to do now, he was human human human, and somehow that was just a synonym for _stuck_ and the walls pressed down on him, these barriers of brick and plywood and plaster that never confined him before, but now were like bars, and he couldn’t _couldn’t_ breathe!

Castiel staggered upwards, stumbling over the the large sliding window the motel had always had, but he’d never noticed before, never needed before, and he shoved at the latch, willing the glass to move, but his shaking fingers couldn’t unlock it, and suddenly he was sobbing, tears blurring his vision, his eyes itching and burning, and his nose running and his throat was thick in that way he’d been pressing back all week. 

He gasped, and the window still wouldn't open, and he couldn’t get it right, and he wanted to break the glass, but his fist was shaking too hard, and the glass only shimmered in the light of the lamp behind him, making this pathetic wobbly noise that sounded like his voice, behind the sobs, breaking and trying to tell himself to stop. It was visceral, these emotions, these _feelings,_ breaking over him like a tsunami wave, like a summer storm, his body trembling like it was caught in the throes of a earthquake. He breathed in shakily, and pressed his head against the window, glad suddenly that he couldn't break it, for the glass was _cool_ , and grounded him, and he slowly.... 

_...slowly..._

Regained control. 

Like the storms, his tears flowed, cleansing and dripping down his cheeks and off the tip of his nose, dribbling into his mouth, where he was still gasping, open mouthed. His head pounded in the wake, his throat was raw, and his eyes were still wet, but the tears slowly came to a stop. The shaking subsided. 

He remained there, his head bowed, on his knees before the dirty window. If he opened his eyes, he could see the parking lot, the city beyond, the lights of the people, living their lives like they should. Safe, because of what he and the Winchesters had done. 

Castiel felt like the dirt of a field after a strong rain, the grass still dripping, the petrichor prising into the air like a fine aura of hope for a new life. He was a newborn child, wet and bloody, screaming at the change, yearning for comfort. But, after this darkness had streamed out of him, after this self pity and guilt and despair, he looked out over the city, towards the east, where he knew that Dean and Sam’s home was, where Dean was...and he felt a light growing. It wasn’t his grace. That tainted, and broken thing he’d torn out of himself in Stull Cemetery was long gone, the last dregs of it having flowed out with his blood, and snot and tears. 

No, but perhaps...a soul? 

Something new, definitely. 

Something...clean. 

Castiel took a deep, trembling breath. And another. He swallowed, and lifted his hands to the window, pressing his body back until he could see the skyline. This was the world, this was humanity. Something that had always amazed and inspired him, something that, even with the gaps in his memories, the actions he could no longer remember, Naomi had not been able to rip out of him. It wasn’t just Dean, as much as Castiel cared for him. This world he’d helped save. It was beautiful, still, and maybe here...he could be whole. For the first time.


End file.
